Eleventh Grave in Moonlight (Charley Davidson #11)(87)

Reyes came out a while later, but everyone else was taking turns getting a glimpse of the Fosters, as though they were a sideshow attraction.

He walked up and covered me with a blanket.

“Dawn should have woken when the gun went off,” I said to him.

“You shifted her,” Reyes said as though proud of me.

“That’s why she didn’t wake up?”

“That would be my guess.”

I had the feeling her comalike state had something to do with our shift onto a celestial plane as well. If she wasn’t different before, she danged sure would be now.

“I killed them.”

“If you hadn’t, I would have. You also saved that little girl’s life. Along with who knows how many others.”

“But I didn’t just kill them. I … mutilated them.”

“Dutch—”

“I really am a monster.”

He took my shoulders and turned me toward him. “You, Dutch, are by no means a monster. If anything, they got off easy.”

I didn’t buy it for a minute, but another conundrum popped into my addled mind. “How can I explain this to Uncle Bob?”

“You don’t have to. The official report will say the Fosters were hiding in a secret room when a wall of cinderblocks they’d stored there fell on them. There was a whole pile out back. It’s taken care of.”

I didn’t know what to say. I lowered my head and rocked Dawn. An ambulance was waiting to transport her to a hospital in Albuquerque, but I couldn’t put her down just yet. Reyes sat with me, wrapped his arms around both of us, and took some of Dawn’s weight off my back.

The sun crested the horizon when I noticed a couple, frantic and searching, standing behind the crime-scene tape. They were talking to a young deputy, trying to convince her that they’d been called to the scene by APD.

I stood, shaking Reyes out of a light slumber, and walked closer.

“Please, they said they were going to transport our daughter to a hospital, but we couldn’t wait. She’s still out here.”

“Sir, I can’t let you through either way.”

But the deputy’s words weren’t getting through. As the man argued with her, the woman spotted me walking forward with my bundle. I recognized them from news articles, so I pulled the blanket off Dawn’s hair. Mrs. Brooks cried out, ducked under the tape, and ran for dear life, dodging one officer after another like a professional running back.

Dawn must’ve heard her mother’s cries. She blinked awake and rubbed her eyes.

“Is that funny woman your mommy?” I asked her.

She finally looked over. After a moment, recognition set in. She took the thumb out of her mouth and bucked her legs in the international signal for put me the hell down. Then she ran as fast as her twelve-inch legs would carry her, meeting her mother at the thirty-yard line.

Her father wasn’t far behind. They scooped Dawn up and formed a huddle. Only they cried a lot more in theirs than most huddlers do.

Mrs. Brooks looked over at me just as I started to walk away. “Charley?” she asked.

Good guess. I nodded and walked back to them.

“I spoke with your uncle on the phone. He said you helped solve this case.”

“Only a little.”

This was definitely a convergence of anomalies. Shawn hiring me. Dr. Schwab’s receptionist, Tiana, opening up to me. Reyes getting abducted. Again.

“We can’t thank you enough.” Her voice cracked, and her shoulders began to shake.

I shook my head. “You know who you should really thank?” I stepped closer and told her all about Tiana from Dr. Schwab’s office, where Mrs. Foster had worked. “If not for her, I would never have known about Dawn. Tiana suspected the Fosters had something to do with her disappearance and had even reported them to the police. They just couldn’t find anything on them.”

“Until now,” Mr. Brooks said. He exuded gratitude, but this was a bizarre case of blind luck and coincidence.

Then again. I looked toward the heavens. I was beginning to believe less and less in coincidence.





20

She has been through hell, so believe me when I say, fear her when she looks into a fire and smiles.

—E. CORONA

Two days later, I sat outside Calamity’s, having lunch with Shawn, who was still a little beaten up, and possibly a little sad, but no worse for the wear. Cookie had found his parents, and I wanted to give him the information in person. And to thank him.

“I can’t believe it,” he said, staring down at the paper. “They really did die in a fire.”

“I’m sorry. It was most likely set by the Fosters. They didn’t want to risk the authorities coming after them again.”

“But they did, anyway, right? The authorities?”

“Yes. When it was discovered that you didn’t die in the fire, they suspected it had been set to cover up your abduction. They just had so little to go on, and the Fosters were clearly good at what they did.”

He stared at the pictures Cookie had found of them. Ran his fingers over his mother’s face.

“But you have family. You have an aunt and two uncles and several cousins. I’m sure they’d love to meet you.”

He nodded, not quite ready to take that step. “Their information is in the file?”